Geijutsuhada
by Kurai Himitsu
Summary: Deidara and Orochimaru are rarely alone together, but when they are, Deidara can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the snake-sannin’s face, a work of art in its own right.


**A/N:** Ack! This one is far too simple. . . (Sigh) I was bored at work, and a bit preoccupied, so forgive this piece of crap. . .

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Naruto_, and I'm not making any money off this

**Ratings:** PG-13

**Genre:** General

**Warnings:** Slight shounen-ai

**Main Characters:** Deidara and Orochimaru

**Additional Notes:** "Geijutsuhada" means "artistic skin" in Japanese, and is an idiom from "artistic nature." Not sure why it made me think of this. . .

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_Geijutsuhada_

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It was a boring day, Deidara decided. Tobi had disappeared and Sasori was far too immersed in the maintenance of his precious puppets, locked in his room, not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Leader-san and Konan were away in Amegakure, per usual, while Itachi and Kisame were on a mission in the Tea Country. Hidan and Kakuzu had snuck off Jashin only knew where to bounty hunt, Zetsu following simply to keep the pair from dismembering each other. In short, there was no one left at the base for company.

Well, almost no one.

Deidara had been curled on one of the small divans in the commons, somehow only occupying one cushion, when Orochimaru glided in. Deidara hardly spared him a glance as the older man went to one of the stone windows, staring out at the distance. The former Iwa-nin could easily guess what subject was weighing on the sannin's mind.

"Itachi-san won't be back for another week."

Annoyance flickered through those dark eyes as Orochimaru turned towards him, though whether it was directed at the words or him, he wasn't sure. "Deidara-kun—why aren't you with your precious _danna_?"

The voice and apparel were Orochimaru's, unmistakably, but the face. . . Deidara had seen the features once before, on a maid Konan had hired. Little doubt was left in his mind as to the young girl's fate. "He's busy, un," he muttered. "Why are you hiding your face here, Orochimaru-sama, un?"

The sannin said nothing at first, his amber eyes darkening, a vicious look of sadism lurking just below their depths; his lips curved up cruelly, somehow reminding Deidara of a blade. "My face?" He brought a hand up to his face with feigned surprise. "Silly me—I must have forgotten. No matter; it's easily remedied, after all."

Deidara could only watch, transfixed, as Orochimaru peeled back the skin from his face, slowly, his true face revealing itself by inches. The bomber couldn't help but notice one thing about the sannin: there was something entirely . . ._ artful_ about him, his appearance. He seemed like a painting brought to life—all blacks, purples, and golds. For once, this was a beauty Deidara did not want to see disappear in a flash of yellow and fire. It was an odd beauty, one that reminded him of smoke and runny ink and wet blood—it left a feeling like incense in his mouths and he suddenly wondered what such a beauty would taste like.

"Is there something _wrong_, Deidara-kun?" Orochimaru's tongue flicked around the words, playing with them as a cat does a mouse. At Deidara's small startled noise of confusion, the tongue flicked again. "You seemed . . . distant all of the sudden."

"It's nothing," muttered the former Iwa-nin; and suddenly Orochimaru was beside him, leaning over him with an arm on either side—he was trapped. "O-oi! What a-are you d-doing, un!"

The snake sannin chuckled darkly, eyes locked with the younger man's. "Nothing," he said, the word soft and hissed—it was no more than a breath.

Deidara swallowed, pressing farther back into the cushions of the old divan. He whimpered softly as the painted man moved closer, and he gasped as those pale, white-washed lips met the skin of his neck. His fingers twisted in the fabric beneath him as the serpent's tongue slithered across his flesh. Deidara couldn't move—he hadn't the willpower to break the hold those touches had on him. The sannin's tongue slowly—oh, so _agonizingly_ slow—made its way to the blonde's earlobe, eliciting another gasp from the younger man; he could feel the sannin smirk against his skin. Still, he was held fast as the older man continued his ministrations. Deidara was nearly lost in those perfect sensations against his skin—such pure artistic ecstasy!—until he felt the prick of sharp teeth.

He yelped in surprise, throwing his hands up to push the older man away, the teeth in his palms snapping. "Stop!"

A laugh bubbled from the pristine throat of the sannin as he allowed himself to be pushed away. "What's wrong, Deidara-kun?" he asked, head cocked to the side, amber eyes glittering with hunger as they narrowed.

The Iwa-nin swallowed, turning away and shifting uncomfortably. "N-nothing . . . un. . ."

Orochimaru smirked, shrugging in pantomime nonchalance as he turned to leave. He paused, however, in the doorway. "Now who is hiding?" And then he was gone.

* * *

—_Owari_—

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**A/N:** (Reads over it again and cringes) Again, I'm sorry about that. . . Oh well. Maybe I'll revamp it some day. . . Review? 


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